Never Leave You
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: Harry does not feel like anyone is with him, but rather that he is completely and utterly alone. Nothing is right and everything is wrong, now … And while his godson feels alone, Sirius must do the hardest thing that anyone ever does  and say goodbye.


**_Disclaimer_**_: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. (If it was owned by me, of course, Sirius would not have died.) However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me. (Unfortunately, Sirius does not fall into this category.)_

**_Summary_**_: "The ones that love us never_ really _us." But that is not the way that he feels. Harry does not feel like anyone is with him, but rather that he is completely and utterly alone. Nothing is right and everything is wrong, now … And while his godson feels alone, Sirius must do the hardest thing that anyone ever does – and say goodbye._

**_Author's__ Note_**_: Well, this story was (sort of) inspired by the wonderfully beautiful banner by __**Cat Lover**__ on TDA. While this idea has been floating around for awhile, I'd been putting off writing a story with it for a few years, now, but the banner just really brought it out. I couldn't deny the characters this story any longer. This is also an entry to the "Full Moon One-Shot" challenge on MNFF, using the 'Missing You' prompt. (EDIT: This story received __**SECOND PLACE**__ in the challenge! Yay!) Anyway, I present for your enjoyment,_ Never Leave You.

* * *

**Never Leave You**

**By ForeverSirius77**

* * *

_"The ones that love us never_ really _leave us."  
--_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban _film_

* * *

The school seemed empty as he climbed the marble staircases, heading from the grand stone Entrance Hall towards the castle's upper levels. Sunlight streamed through the many windows, providing light as he walked, but he could really care less about it all. Occasionally, he would pass another student, who either attempted to catch his attention or just ignored him completely – which was perfectly fine with him. It was not as if those who tried to catch his notice were obliged in any way; the only acknowledgement they would receive _might_ be a nod – and that was only if he felt like it.

No, for the most part, he tried to avoid them all and was therefore pleased that the entire castle felt empty. Of course, that was not necessarily the case – students littered the summer grounds, lounging by the sparkling lake or soaring around the Quidditch pitch; they gathered in the Great Hall for a meal or relaxed in their common rooms. People were all around him, just not where he could actually see them. The fact of being alone was not, in reality, the truth. There was laughter and there were voices that drifted up the stairs and through the windows, and he could not stand it.

He could not think of laughter, of cheer, of happiness. He could not relax in the knowledge that the school term was almost over, that exams had been completed. He could not even enjoy the company of his friends, although he knew that they would probably understand the most – not completely, but more so than many others.

If he was honest with himself, however, there was a deep part of the young man that knew that there was at least one person who could understand, one who would not push him to talk about anything that he did not want to speak on. He knew that there would be one who knew _exactly_ how he felt; there would be one who also felt as if a giant part of himself had been suddenly and harshly ripped from him. One who knew that the world did not look right, did not feel complete, any longer. One who felt like he did and realised that nothing was right anymore: black was white and white was black … or everything was just plain and simple grey.

But he was not at the castle, and the young man knew that no one else would understand.

But they would try and make him feel better, he knew it. Everyone would sit there, uttering their caring words and giving their sympathetic looks. They would all tell him that, while he felt empty _now,_ while it hurt so much _now,_ things would get better soon. They would tell him that the pain would not last. 'Time heals all wounds', people say. But what did they know? Those were just _words:_ empty and pointless words muttered from the mouths of people who did not, and could not, truly understand. The healing of this particular wound was not possible, no matter how much time had passed. He knew that, of course. Oh, people would give him their sympathy, tell him that they 'understand', whisper these false and meaningless phrases to him, but they could not understand.

No one could.

About a quarter of an hour passed before the young man reached his destination. He could have made it to the Gryffindor common room in far quicker time, but what was the point in hurrying? What was the point in doing anything anymore? Nothing seemed to matter to him; he felt too numb, too gone, too _empty._ And at this point, he did not think that such a feeling would ever go away. Perhaps it would stay with him, forever, and he would never go back to being his old self.

Did he even _want_ to?

He did not know.

The young man climbed the stairs up to the fifth-year boys' dormitory, hoping and praying that the room beyond were deserted. He had not wanted company earlier and he did not want company now. As he pushed open the door, a completely silent and empty room greeted his sight. He made his way across the floor, overlooking the piles of robes and stacks of books, the rolls of parchment and discarded quills and inkpots. He passed the trunks and the beds until he reached his own and, pulling the hangings closed so as to hide him from sight, he picked up the sole book that lay on his bed.

Flipping through the leather-bound book, he searched for that certain page, the page that contained the only picture of his godfather that he had. Smiling faces shone out at him from the numerous pictures that littered the photo album, most of the images being those of his parents. But for the first time, he was not interested in the pictures of James and Lily, of seeing them holding him as a baby, of seeing them gathered around a Christmas tree that was surrounded with a pile of presents or of seeing them share a dance together. Tonight, he was looking for that one picture –

And there it was. Near the very end of the album was the picture of his parents' wedding day, the one photograph that held his mother, shining in happiness; his father, beaming … and his godfather, whose handsome face was full of laughter. In the past two years, Harry had watched Sirius regain some of that youthfulness, regain some of that laughter that Azkaban had taken away. He had started to know the Sirius that his father had known, that Lupin had known. Harry had started to discover more of the Sirius that was in the photograph, rather than just the former Azkaban prisoner that he had first met.

He looked down at the album and ran his fingers along the picture, tracing the border. All three of the picture's occupants were happy and joyful, young and carefree regardless of the darkness that had plagued the world at the time.

And now, all three of them were gone.

Slamming the book shut, Harry threw it to the end of his bed. It hit one of the posts before sliding off towards the floor, but he did not seem to care. He lay on his back and just stared at the ceiling, not seeing anything in particular but not feeling tired enough to sleep. Tears started to fall from his eyes, but he paid no attention to them, either; the hangings were closed and he was alone, anyway.

_They are all gone,_ he thought. _All three of them._ And Harry felt more alone now than he could ever remember feeling. He had been without his parents for almost fifteen years, but this time was different. He had not known his parents, but he had known Sirius. He had never had the chance to talk with his parents, to write to his mother and father, but with Sirius, that was not the case; Harry had had almost two years to talk and write to his godfather. His friends had helped with the loneliness before, but this time was different. Somewhere in his mind, he did not think that his friends could help with _this_ loneliness.

This was different.

* * *

He stood on his own, separated from the man and woman that had first met him when he arrived. They stood back, several steps away from him, and let him have this one moment alone. Although, in reality, both the man and the woman had just as much right – if not more – than he did to watch the young man in the Gryffindor dormitory. They were, after all, his parents.

But they both understood, and they had already said their farewells. Many years ago, they had had to whisper that first goodbye to their son before moving on. They had never really left him, though, and they both had watched him closely ever since that day. They had seen him grow from the one-year-old child he was into the strong, fifteen-year-old wizard that he had become. Every hurt, every joy, every disappointment, every triumph, every loss, and every love, the man and woman had watched from the other side. But that initial farewell, the one given as people made the choice to go on, was always the hardest. Both of them knew such a fact from experience.

And now, it was his turn; he had to do it. He had to say farewell, something that he had never been good at doing. Goodbyes and farewells had never meant anything positive to him; they seemed too much like permanent endings, and he never liked endings – especially ones that felt permanent. And what could be more permanent an ending than this one?

He watched as his godson stared at the picture in the photo album, watched as he threw the book aside and lay back on the bed, not even bothering to stem the tears that started to fall. He longed to reach out, to tell Harry that he was there – right there next to him – and that he would never be gone. Sirius wanted to tell him that James and Lily were there, that they had been with him since the beginning, that he had never been alone. His parents had always been with him, and now, he would be as well. He wanted to tell him everything that he had never had the chance to say.

Sirius turned around to look at the two people standing behind him, though still several feet away. The looks on both of their faces told him that they knew: this was the hardest thing a person ever had to do, no matter what world – living or dead – one was in. Lily's silent tears and James's perceptive nod told him that they understood.

It was time.

Turning once again to look at Harry, he saw that the young man had somehow managed to drift off to sleep. His breathing was calm, peaceful, and while liquid from the tears still spotted his face, it seemed that the crying had ceased. The photo album that had landed on the floor had fell open, right to the page that Harry had been looking at before he slammed the book shut, and Sirius just stared at the picture on that particular page, remembering that day clearly.

But his attention did not remain on the photograph of James and Lily's wedding day. No, he had no reason for his eyes to dwell on that image of the past, not when James and Lily were standing behind him. There was no need for him to think on the past; he was back with his friends again _now._ A goodbye was not needed towards either James or Lily. And it was towards Harry, therefore, that he stared.

Sirius opened his mouth, knowing he had to say that farewell but not knowing _what_ to say. There was so much that he had not told Harry and now, he wanted nothing more than to have just one more chance to talk to his godson. He had wished for the same thing almost fifteen years ago, too, in regards to James and Lily. Just _one_ more chance to talk to them, to tell them everything that he had not said. But such had never happened, and it could not happen now, either.

A farewell was the only thing left.

"Remember me, Harry," he whispered, not thinking about the statements but just letting the words come as they would. And they did; they came straight from the heart. "Know that I love you, that I have always loved you. You were like a son to me, after all, and I don't want you to forget that. Know that you will never be alone; you have never _been_ alone, Harry. Your mother and father have always been with you, from the very beginning … and now I will, too."

Sirius stopped for a moment, taking a quick glance back at the man and woman waiting for him. As they both smiled and nodded, he refocused his attention on the young man in the Gryffindor dormitory, trying to bring himself to say those final words to him, yet still seeking to put off that last moment. His hand rose to hover just inches above his godson's shoulder, yearning to comfort him but knowing that the barrier between the worlds could not be physically crossed.

"Goodbye," he whispered, his lips barely moving to utter the words. Regardless of the quietness, however, they could still be heard, clearly, by both the man and the woman several feet away. They both knew, and they both understood … He had always hated goodbyes, but none more so than this one.

"And know, Harry, that we will never leave you."

* * *

_"Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end …"  
--_Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _film_

* * *

**_Author's __Note_**_: All right, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed reading this, and please, let me know what you think. Ever since_ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _came out, I'd had the whole Sirius-death idea floating in my head, but I stubbornly was_ refusing _to write it. (Mainly for the reason that I was refusing to_ accept _his death, of course.) While I've written Sirius a lot of times in the past couple of years, I had_ never _written a post-Veil or anything that deals with his death in anything more than a throwaway line, not even in little drabbles!_

_But, I saw the banner by Cat Lover, and figured that, four years after the fact, it's time to give in and write it. That's not to say, of course, that the mourning is over!_

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_

_--ForeverSirius77_


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